After saying goodbye to Betty’s I looked at a few other restaurants. The thai place that is known for being a gay dating place. So much so that I would often go on a date and see someone else I had just gone on a date with earlier in the month. The Jewish Deli, fast food Greek place, The best pizza place then the second best pizza place where we eat salad. Then the coffee shop I wrote in for the last six months. It wasn’t fun and there was no happiness in these visits. It’s odd going into a place that has been a staple in your life for at least a decade and thinking it may be the last time you’ll ever see it.
One restaurant that wasn’t a staple was Brian’s. I’d eaten there but usually late at night when most other places were closed and I was too drunk to worry about how fattening the food was. I didn’t go to say goodbye really, I went because a friend wanted to go. While we were waiting for our food an ex walked in. A serious one. Over seven years together and I hadn’t seen him since the break up. He was with the friend that became his boyfriend after we broke up. He looked like Hell. When we broke up I thought he’d taken the best years of my life but he looked so bad I think I may have taken his. This was a happy goodbye to a place and a person I would probably never see again.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Moving to Atlanta, Leaving San Diego Post 2
I’m going to dinner with a few friends since I’m leaving. Part of me wants to go to places I’ve never gone to but always wanted to but instead I’m going to all of the places that have been regulars over the years.
Baja Betty’s. I was here at the opening when it was called Margarita Mary’s until it was sued by some dark business overlord somewhere and was forced to change the name. I was also here for several of the anniversary parties many times randomly walking in on the right day for free food. I watched the initial group of really hot guy waiters dwindle down to the more reliable and more professional average looking waiters.
One of my 40th birthday parties was held here (I had several parties the same year NOT turning 40 several times) as well as many of my friends b’days. This was also the scene of an admirers ,Gunther, famous breakdown when I decided waiting two hours for a table for 12 was just too long. Its when I got the infamous “why do you hate me” text message. Later that night he was mugged after a good old fashioned white trash trailer park style argument in front of my apartment.
Adios Betty’s and Buenos Suerte. In tribute I pour half of the signature drink, a kick ass margarita, on the curb. (not really, at 7 bucks a piece that’s just crazy)
Baja Betty’s. I was here at the opening when it was called Margarita Mary’s until it was sued by some dark business overlord somewhere and was forced to change the name. I was also here for several of the anniversary parties many times randomly walking in on the right day for free food. I watched the initial group of really hot guy waiters dwindle down to the more reliable and more professional average looking waiters.
One of my 40th birthday parties was held here (I had several parties the same year NOT turning 40 several times) as well as many of my friends b’days. This was also the scene of an admirers ,Gunther, famous breakdown when I decided waiting two hours for a table for 12 was just too long. Its when I got the infamous “why do you hate me” text message. Later that night he was mugged after a good old fashioned white trash trailer park style argument in front of my apartment.
Adios Betty’s and Buenos Suerte. In tribute I pour half of the signature drink, a kick ass margarita, on the curb. (not really, at 7 bucks a piece that’s just crazy)
Atlanta
May 1, 2010
I'm moving to Atlanta. Probably.
Reed called to tell me he has an interview for an internship in Atlanta for a company that makes baby clothes. Perfect for him and it sounds like a perfect fit. Time to get ready.
A large part of going somewhere is saying goodbye to the place you're leaving. Sometimes it's as easy as turning your back on a place you can't wait to leave but I really like San Diego and have had six great years here. Out of ten. That's more than fifty percent.
It's the right time. I can feel it in the air. My friend Alej is moving to Long Beach and moving on with his life with his new partner. Nobody needs me in San Diego, I don't have a car, I don't have any commitments and I'm really wanting a new experience. So Atlanta it is.
I nearly moved to Atlanta before the Olympics in 1995. I had just gotten my massage license and wanted to move so I could work on world class athletes. I don't remember why I didn't make the move out of Florida then but I didn't. Maybe a boyfriend. Probably a boyfriend.
Atlanta won't be my first time in the South either. I lived in New Orleans in the 80's and would like being back close to the Carolinas and some green landscapes. And it's cheaper to live there according to several articles. So Atlanta it is.
I'm moving to Atlanta. Probably.
Reed called to tell me he has an interview for an internship in Atlanta for a company that makes baby clothes. Perfect for him and it sounds like a perfect fit. Time to get ready.
A large part of going somewhere is saying goodbye to the place you're leaving. Sometimes it's as easy as turning your back on a place you can't wait to leave but I really like San Diego and have had six great years here. Out of ten. That's more than fifty percent.
It's the right time. I can feel it in the air. My friend Alej is moving to Long Beach and moving on with his life with his new partner. Nobody needs me in San Diego, I don't have a car, I don't have any commitments and I'm really wanting a new experience. So Atlanta it is.
I nearly moved to Atlanta before the Olympics in 1995. I had just gotten my massage license and wanted to move so I could work on world class athletes. I don't remember why I didn't make the move out of Florida then but I didn't. Maybe a boyfriend. Probably a boyfriend.
Atlanta won't be my first time in the South either. I lived in New Orleans in the 80's and would like being back close to the Carolinas and some green landscapes. And it's cheaper to live there according to several articles. So Atlanta it is.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Crazy in Love
It was the pre-opening night of a new restaurant. Pre-opening meaning they were serving food as sort of a practice run for the actual opening scheduled for the coming weekend. I was there on a first date with a psychology student named Jory.
We'd met at a party the previous Friday. He joined a group of strangers that included me and introduced himself and told us what he did. One of the guys standing with us said "Oh, you're in psychology! You know I was fundamental in getting Xanax ready for the public." There was something weird in how he said "Fundamental in getting Xanax ready for the public" like they weren't really his words but something he had been told over and over in an attempt to convince him of his importance. I had also been standing there for a few minutes and this person didn't seem all that bright and I think I even saw a little bit of crazy in his eyes. I couldn't figure how he was possibly fundamental. Maybe just mental?
I didn't have to ask because Jory did. "Oh really? what part?" My humor Tourrette's kicked in and as a joke I blurted out "test subject!". My joke was ruined though when the guy we were talking to also said "test subject" at the same time I did. As the other guys standing around started pelting the human lab rat with questions Jory and I shared a sideways glance, a knowing smirk and bonded. He asked me out five minutes later.
The place for dinner was his idea. He explained a friend of a friend worked there, or owned the place or supplied food, I don't really remember, he then continued on to point out it's nice to get to know someone in a place that's not very busy or too loud. The other bonus of a place with few other customers was the fact that you can avoid running into friends or people you've already dated. That way if the date fell apart you could deny it ever happened. A strategy I picked up myself later.
We ordered our drinks and the waitress came over and promptly spilled them on us. We both jumped and moved fast avoiding a crotch dampening. In place of an apology from the server we heard "Oh know, not again!" as she ran off in the direction of the kitchen. Hopefully for a towel.
"Again?!" we both said in unison once we saw the swinging door close behind her scrunchied pony tail. "It's only been open one day!" Jory continued. But we laughed and since a towel or napkins didn't seem forthcoming we moved to one of the many other empty tables. This turned out to be a prudent move since we never saw our server again.
After twenty minutes or so a new waitress came over and introduced herself as Rondell. She was older and a lot more worn out than our first girl. She was a career waitress probably initially passed over for this shift for the cuter and younger model. She was nice though and smiled a lot showing off her bright white tooth. The tooth was up front and framed in gold and stood out both because of its artificial brightness and the fact it was compared to the rest of her full set of teeth which had been plaqued to a deep burnt amber color from what had to be years of chain smoking.
When our food came we asked Rondell what had happened to our first waitress. "Oh Lurlene?" she said and zoned out for a moment, a look of internal conflict on her face. She was debating whether or not it was professional to tell us what happened to Lurlene. I knew this type of woman though. I knew she'd tell us. She was bored was probably needing to release some of the pressure that builds up with a juicy gossip.
Somewhere between one second and two the moral dam broke and she leaned over to our table in conspiracy "Well, I probably shouldn't tell you this but right before work Lurlene got a call from her ex boyfriend or ex husband or whatever he is. Well anyway he got a baby on her about four years ago so whatever you call that. Well I guess he been drinking a lot since he lost his job over to the cabinet company." Rondell started picking up speed now. "Well I think he been beating on her and she got tired of it so she left him to stay with her mom. Anyway he calls up here and tells her that if she don't come back to him and stop being all crazy" She waved her hands in the air to illustrate the crazy part " that he was going to go bring his shotgun down here and shoot her then shoot hisself".
"Is she going to get fired?" Jory asked.
"No I don't think so. Ole Jayjack will probably let her come back when she gets it all squared off at home. That Jayjack is a good ole boy and he knows about crazy love. I'm gonna check on your food"
I always despise it when someone tells a story and names off people like everyone should know who they are. I realized our first waitress, the one with the homicidal boyfriend, or whatever, was probably Lurlene. Hell she even looked like a Lurlene. But I had to guess that Jayjack was a manager or owner.
As I was pondering the names of the players Jory brought up a really good point "We could have been shot!" I thought this was at least a little funny but Jory was genuinely alarmed. So alarmed that when Rondell came back with our food he asked her "So are we safe?"
She gave a confused glance at the food as though he thought she may have poisoned it or it was undercooked pork. Then it dawned on her what he meant. "Oh no that. Lurlene called and it's all fine now. Jakes been picked up by the police and probably gonna be in the jail all night. You know how that goes when you're crazy in love. It's kind of sweet once the craziness settles down and they get back to normal. Love will make you do them kind of things". I think she was actually wistful. Lost in a memory of her her own ex boyfriend (or whatever) and his death threats. "Do it while you're young is what I say" and she actually sighed dreamily.
A week later Jory dumped me. He called up and said it wasn't going to work out. He thought too many weird things happened to us too soon. Our first impressions of each other were ruined and besides he was thinking of transferring to Seattle for school.
I was surprised because I thought things had gone great! That was a great first date story. I replayed what could have gone wrong. Surely he didn't think lab rat guy was my friend. I didn't spill the drink on us and besides nobody got wet. He couldn't be blaming me for the restaurant could he? I didn't even pick the place, he did. It's not like I introduced Jake and Lurlene and started the chain of events up to Jakes arrest. The more I think about it the more I think it was the way Rondell said "crazy in love". When it came down to it Jory thought I would fall in love with him and try to shoot him. Which was crazy. I don't even own a shotgun anymore.
We'd met at a party the previous Friday. He joined a group of strangers that included me and introduced himself and told us what he did. One of the guys standing with us said "Oh, you're in psychology! You know I was fundamental in getting Xanax ready for the public." There was something weird in how he said "Fundamental in getting Xanax ready for the public" like they weren't really his words but something he had been told over and over in an attempt to convince him of his importance. I had also been standing there for a few minutes and this person didn't seem all that bright and I think I even saw a little bit of crazy in his eyes. I couldn't figure how he was possibly fundamental. Maybe just mental?
I didn't have to ask because Jory did. "Oh really? what part?" My humor Tourrette's kicked in and as a joke I blurted out "test subject!". My joke was ruined though when the guy we were talking to also said "test subject" at the same time I did. As the other guys standing around started pelting the human lab rat with questions Jory and I shared a sideways glance, a knowing smirk and bonded. He asked me out five minutes later.
The place for dinner was his idea. He explained a friend of a friend worked there, or owned the place or supplied food, I don't really remember, he then continued on to point out it's nice to get to know someone in a place that's not very busy or too loud. The other bonus of a place with few other customers was the fact that you can avoid running into friends or people you've already dated. That way if the date fell apart you could deny it ever happened. A strategy I picked up myself later.
We ordered our drinks and the waitress came over and promptly spilled them on us. We both jumped and moved fast avoiding a crotch dampening. In place of an apology from the server we heard "Oh know, not again!" as she ran off in the direction of the kitchen. Hopefully for a towel.
"Again?!" we both said in unison once we saw the swinging door close behind her scrunchied pony tail. "It's only been open one day!" Jory continued. But we laughed and since a towel or napkins didn't seem forthcoming we moved to one of the many other empty tables. This turned out to be a prudent move since we never saw our server again.
After twenty minutes or so a new waitress came over and introduced herself as Rondell. She was older and a lot more worn out than our first girl. She was a career waitress probably initially passed over for this shift for the cuter and younger model. She was nice though and smiled a lot showing off her bright white tooth. The tooth was up front and framed in gold and stood out both because of its artificial brightness and the fact it was compared to the rest of her full set of teeth which had been plaqued to a deep burnt amber color from what had to be years of chain smoking.
When our food came we asked Rondell what had happened to our first waitress. "Oh Lurlene?" she said and zoned out for a moment, a look of internal conflict on her face. She was debating whether or not it was professional to tell us what happened to Lurlene. I knew this type of woman though. I knew she'd tell us. She was bored was probably needing to release some of the pressure that builds up with a juicy gossip.
Somewhere between one second and two the moral dam broke and she leaned over to our table in conspiracy "Well, I probably shouldn't tell you this but right before work Lurlene got a call from her ex boyfriend or ex husband or whatever he is. Well anyway he got a baby on her about four years ago so whatever you call that. Well I guess he been drinking a lot since he lost his job over to the cabinet company." Rondell started picking up speed now. "Well I think he been beating on her and she got tired of it so she left him to stay with her mom. Anyway he calls up here and tells her that if she don't come back to him and stop being all crazy" She waved her hands in the air to illustrate the crazy part " that he was going to go bring his shotgun down here and shoot her then shoot hisself".
"Is she going to get fired?" Jory asked.
"No I don't think so. Ole Jayjack will probably let her come back when she gets it all squared off at home. That Jayjack is a good ole boy and he knows about crazy love. I'm gonna check on your food"
I always despise it when someone tells a story and names off people like everyone should know who they are. I realized our first waitress, the one with the homicidal boyfriend, or whatever, was probably Lurlene. Hell she even looked like a Lurlene. But I had to guess that Jayjack was a manager or owner.
As I was pondering the names of the players Jory brought up a really good point "We could have been shot!" I thought this was at least a little funny but Jory was genuinely alarmed. So alarmed that when Rondell came back with our food he asked her "So are we safe?"
She gave a confused glance at the food as though he thought she may have poisoned it or it was undercooked pork. Then it dawned on her what he meant. "Oh no that. Lurlene called and it's all fine now. Jakes been picked up by the police and probably gonna be in the jail all night. You know how that goes when you're crazy in love. It's kind of sweet once the craziness settles down and they get back to normal. Love will make you do them kind of things". I think she was actually wistful. Lost in a memory of her her own ex boyfriend (or whatever) and his death threats. "Do it while you're young is what I say" and she actually sighed dreamily.
A week later Jory dumped me. He called up and said it wasn't going to work out. He thought too many weird things happened to us too soon. Our first impressions of each other were ruined and besides he was thinking of transferring to Seattle for school.
I was surprised because I thought things had gone great! That was a great first date story. I replayed what could have gone wrong. Surely he didn't think lab rat guy was my friend. I didn't spill the drink on us and besides nobody got wet. He couldn't be blaming me for the restaurant could he? I didn't even pick the place, he did. It's not like I introduced Jake and Lurlene and started the chain of events up to Jakes arrest. The more I think about it the more I think it was the way Rondell said "crazy in love". When it came down to it Jory thought I would fall in love with him and try to shoot him. Which was crazy. I don't even own a shotgun anymore.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Smile at 5 strangers and see what happens
This was someones profile update this morning. This someone is a very pretty girl and on the upswing of "spiritual" hippy path. I know that's what it is because I've seen it before and know the look.
The reality is if you walk down the street here in San Diego or in San Francisco where she lives here's what happens.
The person you're smiling at will assume you're easy and hit you up for money. And though they do this for everyone you now have the distinct characterstic of being a "nice person" and probably will relent if they bother you enough.
Depending on how you're dressed the person you smile at may or may not avoid eye contact and clutch his or her purse in fear that you're about to ask for money or are a prostitute.
Being a pretty girl I'm confident she has mastered the avoid eye contact move that would save her from persistent would be suitors when she's out. You know the guys. The ones you tell there's about a chance in a million that she would ever get with them and they walk away thinking "there's a chance!".
It may sound pessimistic of me to say these things but I've lived in San Francisco where literally every 15-20 feet someone is freaking out, shooting up or asking you for money. On tv yesterday I saw a story in which a lovely elderly lady invited the neighbor girls into her house for bible study. The girls came back later in the week and beat the elderly lady to death thinking she must have some money around. Smile!
Just yesterday I went to my favorite coffee spot to write. As I normally do I try to claim a seat next to an electrical outlet before getting my coffee. The coffee shop is long and narrow so I had to squeeze past a man standing at the bar. As I did he reached for my hand but I easily avoided him. Usually this is enough for the local crazies but not for this one.
I ordered my coffee and took a seat close to the door instead of close to an outlet. The crazy decided to flatter me by walking up to the opposite side of the table and three feet away just stared at me. Swaying a little as if in a slight breeze. Alcohol fumes almost visible in the 10 am sunlight.
He mumbled something at me. I looked up and in my sternest voice said "Just go" He mumbled again. I said "go" this time louder.
"I find you attractive" I deciphered from his third mumble
"Go away, leave me alone" I continued. Then packed up my stuff and gave my coffee back to the guys behind the counter. Crazy followed me up to the counter and reached for me again.
"I find you attractive" he said again as if his opinion of me would change my opinion of him. He didn't move fast and just sort of ambled. It was like being hit on by a zombie.
This back and forth continued. I would say "go away" and he would reply with "I find you attractive" or sometime throw in a "what's wrong with me?" I would move away and he would confront me always staying a few feet away.
"God I fucking hate crack heads" I said to break this loop. It was funny because this got a different reaction from him. "I'm not a crack head!" he responded. Seems even crack heads don't like being called crack heads. Do you have to be politically correct even at this low level of humanity?
"I have money" was the next flattering remark he came up with to convince me of considering him.
I didn't want to leave because I didn't want him following me home. I didn't feel like I needed to physically defend myself because he was careful to stay back. The guys behind the counter called the police and hid me in the back until he was handcuffed and hauled off. What would he have done if I had actually smiled at the son of a bitch?
I wanted to tell the girl with "Smile at five strangers" this story and decided she probably knows better. Saying everything is beautiful and safe regardless of evidence to the contrary is the same mindset that sends people to the streets with misspelled signs claiming the president isn't a citizen despite evidence to the contrary.
A few minutes ago I looked again at her profile and several people had commented positively to her profile. All men. All single. She brought it on herself.
I deleted her from my friends list.
Smile
The reality is if you walk down the street here in San Diego or in San Francisco where she lives here's what happens.
The person you're smiling at will assume you're easy and hit you up for money. And though they do this for everyone you now have the distinct characterstic of being a "nice person" and probably will relent if they bother you enough.
Depending on how you're dressed the person you smile at may or may not avoid eye contact and clutch his or her purse in fear that you're about to ask for money or are a prostitute.
Being a pretty girl I'm confident she has mastered the avoid eye contact move that would save her from persistent would be suitors when she's out. You know the guys. The ones you tell there's about a chance in a million that she would ever get with them and they walk away thinking "there's a chance!".
It may sound pessimistic of me to say these things but I've lived in San Francisco where literally every 15-20 feet someone is freaking out, shooting up or asking you for money. On tv yesterday I saw a story in which a lovely elderly lady invited the neighbor girls into her house for bible study. The girls came back later in the week and beat the elderly lady to death thinking she must have some money around. Smile!
Just yesterday I went to my favorite coffee spot to write. As I normally do I try to claim a seat next to an electrical outlet before getting my coffee. The coffee shop is long and narrow so I had to squeeze past a man standing at the bar. As I did he reached for my hand but I easily avoided him. Usually this is enough for the local crazies but not for this one.
I ordered my coffee and took a seat close to the door instead of close to an outlet. The crazy decided to flatter me by walking up to the opposite side of the table and three feet away just stared at me. Swaying a little as if in a slight breeze. Alcohol fumes almost visible in the 10 am sunlight.
He mumbled something at me. I looked up and in my sternest voice said "Just go" He mumbled again. I said "go" this time louder.
"I find you attractive" I deciphered from his third mumble
"Go away, leave me alone" I continued. Then packed up my stuff and gave my coffee back to the guys behind the counter. Crazy followed me up to the counter and reached for me again.
"I find you attractive" he said again as if his opinion of me would change my opinion of him. He didn't move fast and just sort of ambled. It was like being hit on by a zombie.
This back and forth continued. I would say "go away" and he would reply with "I find you attractive" or sometime throw in a "what's wrong with me?" I would move away and he would confront me always staying a few feet away.
"God I fucking hate crack heads" I said to break this loop. It was funny because this got a different reaction from him. "I'm not a crack head!" he responded. Seems even crack heads don't like being called crack heads. Do you have to be politically correct even at this low level of humanity?
"I have money" was the next flattering remark he came up with to convince me of considering him.
I didn't want to leave because I didn't want him following me home. I didn't feel like I needed to physically defend myself because he was careful to stay back. The guys behind the counter called the police and hid me in the back until he was handcuffed and hauled off. What would he have done if I had actually smiled at the son of a bitch?
I wanted to tell the girl with "Smile at five strangers" this story and decided she probably knows better. Saying everything is beautiful and safe regardless of evidence to the contrary is the same mindset that sends people to the streets with misspelled signs claiming the president isn't a citizen despite evidence to the contrary.
A few minutes ago I looked again at her profile and several people had commented positively to her profile. All men. All single. She brought it on herself.
I deleted her from my friends list.
Smile
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Family Tree part one
At some point in grade school. I don't remember which grade, we were given the homework assignment of making a family tree The teacher drew a simple stick figure on the chalkboard to represent us the student and from there lines forming the branches pointing to a mother on one side and a father on the the other at angles. "After you put in your parents, he explained then two lines from each for your grandparents. Go back as far as you can but don't use more than two sheets of paper. Next to each figure put the persons name" and he wrote the word name forming a list off to the side. "Birth date" and he scratched that under the word name, "and deceased date". As he was adding this to the list I wondered why it wasn't called Death Date since it was sort of the opposite of Birth Date. I didn't ask though. I had learned by that time that that contrary to the popular cliche "there are no stupid questions" there were questions that will make people think you're crazy or odd or worth picking on. I was learning to filter thoughts that wanted to pop out of my mouth. At least some of the time.
"If you have room off to the side you can put something interesting if you like. Military service, professions or accomplishments. You can paste pictures and decorate them. We're going to hang them on the wall for the parent teacher conference." I must have been in a brooding mood because I remember thinking I was going to be able to save a lot of space under that interesting section.
"What if you aint got a dad?" asked Tommy Blond Hair.
"Everyone has a dad" Someone behind me blurted out.
"Not Jesus" said Tina whose father was a Baptist minister. I've reconnected with Tina recently and despite her upbringing or maybe because of it she's a card carrying atheist selling what she calls "love helpers" at parties not unlike the ones hosted by Tupperware saleswomen.
"God was Jesuses dad" another voice said. The class was sinking into pandemonium and I really love pandemonium but before I could yell "Can we put God in the place of dad if we don't know who our father is?" our teacher regained control.
"If you want you can put a stepfather or stepmother here" and he pointed to the parent part. "whoever you consider your family." He was trying to appease us and maybe avoid being politically incorrect but in truth he just made things a little difficult for some of us and a lot more difficult for me. It was due in a week.
When I sat down to do this assignment it was my full expectation to finish in an hour and then go on with life. I rarely needed the full time alloted to do any given piece of homework so I intended to start right after Leave it to Beaver and finish before Charlie's Angels.
I drew a stick figure that was to be me and the two angled lines for parents. Here was the first snag. I had only recently learned that the man that had been married to my mother for as long as I could remember was not really my father. There was no purposeful deception involved on their part it just never came up and I guess it never occurred to me that people in a family should all have the same last name so I never asked.
I put a stick figure to represent my mother first since that seemed the easiest. Name: Mary Rene ... but what last name? Her name wasn't the same as mine so I couldn't put her next to my biological father could I? Fine. I'll put all of her names. I was annoyed that this was now going to take longer than I expected and I felt I was giving myself more work. Name: Mary Rene Holmes-Berger-Williams. There. It was long but it was precise. Birthday: December 22, 1950. Deceased:... The teacher hadn't said what to put if the person was still alive so I wrote "Not dead yet".
I didn't know much about my biological father so after some thought I put a stick figure to denote my stepfather. Name: JD Williams. At least the men had shorter names. Born: August 16.. "Mom! when is dads date of birth?" I yelled loud enough she could hear from anywhere in the house. I had always referred to him as my dad or father since I didn't know any better and was never corrected.
"August 16" a disembodied voice yelled back. "No I mean what year", "1947" Hmmm.. that made him 30. No wonder he has gray hair I thought. Of course he had always had gray hair except for the Summer he spent looking for a job and he dyed it a shiny black to keep from being rejected for his assumed age.
Deceased: Not dead yet.
From my mothers stick figure I drew two angled lines to represent my maternal grandparents. We called our grandmother Grandma Imogene which was her first name since by the time I was in fifth grade her last name had already changed twice. The family had decided it was just too confusing for the kids to keep changing what we called her. Name: Imogene.. another snag. I didn't know her maiden name and I couldn't remember her second husbands last name even though I was a ring bearer in the wedding.
She was still married to husband number three at the time but he was an abusive alcoholic. I had vague memories of late night calls and my mother and stepfather going to rescue her. I never knew if she was physically abused but after several of these rescues my grandmother was given an ultimatum by her children. He goes or we do. She chose her husband. Twice as it turned out. She did eventually divorce him and then married him again later.
My mother had a sister and two brothers. They formed a united front against my grandmother and affected a freeze out. No contact with her children or grand children until she came to her senses. Being the oldest and the favorite I think it was hardest on me. My father and grandfather both died the same year and my pregnant newly widowed mother and I moved in with my newly widowed grandmother. I was the oldest and at that point the only grandchild and I started calling my mother Mary and my grandmother Mom. We didn't live there long. Both women were remarried within the year.
The freeze out lasted about five or six years which is an eternity for anyone under twenty. My uncles folded first. The youngest one only ten years older than me was in trouble too much not to have some financial back up for bail money. His youngest daughter was getting more face time and replaced me as favorite. I would have to remember this lesson later in case I go into politics or seek popularity. Out of face out of mind.
Next to lose solidarity was my other uncle. He's a pathological liar and has a very odd detachment in his relationships. I can't be positive but I'm willing to bet his motivation wasn't to regain his relationship with his mother but to regain the appearance of a big happy family. He and the rest of the family had been on shaky ground since the death of his father. The day my grandfather died he broke into his own parents house and stole various mementos and artifacts from his childhood that he felt he deserved to inherit but was afraid wouldn't. Then he sold them.
This left my mother and my aunt Margerite as the last hold outs. I don't know which lasted longer but they turned on each other so they both ended up with two fronts of a family freeze out. Their falling out happened because my father bought us a cabin at the Lake of the Ozarks. I didn't know it at the time but my Uncle Dan, Margerites husband and my stepfather were in a financial arms race. When we got a new truck, they got a newer bigger truck. I don't know much about trucks but I knew my cousins had a bigger truck because they made sure to point it out to us. Possibly at their fathers instruction.
When my stepfather brought home a pop up Apache camper Dan brought home a fifth wheel trailer camper that didn't need to be folded up. When we bought a house at the lake Dan called child protective services. I guess he couldn't compete but would get even somehow.
We were in school when they came. I only found out when the neighbors asked me why a man and a women in suits came to the house. They went through our closets to make sure we had clothes and checked the refrigerator to make sure we had food. They counted our shoes and checked my mothers check book to see where her money was going. Of course they felt violated and insulted and the law was laid down we weren't to speak to our aunt, uncle or cousins about anything.
After a few years of isolation some decision was made to reunite the family even though my grandmothers husband number three was still in the picture. It was a weird time being reintroduced to my grandmother and her husband. They came over one evening in the winter and to grease the wheels a bit they brought two paper grocery bags completely full of candy. Leftovers from an event they had promoted that week. It worked.
"Mom! what is Grandma Imogenes maiden name?"
"Snowbird or just Snow." came the reply.
"What's her date of birth?" I bellowed again but instead of yelling back my mother came to my bedroom door. "Why do you want to know?" She saw my family tree at about the same moment. "It's for my homework. I have to do a family tree"
"Let's see, she was 16 when Marggie was born" She calculated in her head " 1929, January 27th,1929."
So I wrote Name: Imogene Snowbird-Holmes-Arnold-Eisen. Date of Birth: January 27, 1927. Deceased: Not dead yet.
But she's dead now. If I had the family tree in front of me I could amend the entry to read. Name: Imogene Snow-Holmes-Arnold-Eisen-Eisen-Martin. Birth: January 27, 1927. Deceased November 19, 2009.
For the assignment I realized I finally had something to write under interesting facts. I wrote "Owned the Tastee Freez". The Tastee Freez at the time made up 20% of all the restaurants town. This was as good as being a celebrity. I must not have been the only person to find that interesting because that fact was also mentioned in her obituary after the list of her surviving relatives.
When I was younger my mother would sometimes work at the Tastee Freez and we would spend her entire shift there. We would start sitting quietly at a table with a coloring book or reading but eventually the massive amounts of sugar and caffeine from the sodas we drank would take it's toll and we would end up running around like insanely hyper children. We drank so much soda because it was the only thing we could get on our own without asking permission and we took full advantage.
For some reason it was great fun for us to go behind the counter to make our own drinks. and even more fun to play mixologist. Is your Coke not Spritey enough? Or maybe your Root Beer would taste more like Dr Pepper if you just added a little bit of orange crush. Of course the ultimate expression of the fountain culinary experience was the Suicide. Recipe was easy. You put a little of each soda in your cup all the way down the line then repeat until your cup was full.
".. and Dad" my mother continued "was born September 14, 1919 and he died December 23rd, 1969" Next to my grandmother I drew another stick figure and wrote down the dates. Wow my first dead relative. I only knew of two pictures of my grandfather. One was him in uniform for the army and the other he was holding me on the Easter before he died. My two year old self posing behind a wagon that had been filled with candy. The photo was in black and white and I would see that picture and wonder more about what kind of candy it was instead of the man holding me.
I've only heard a few stories about my mothers father but they were good ones and always told with love. Once he had to wake up the entire household to help him find the shoes he wore to work. Because he was already late and his carpool was waiting on him he gave up and borrowed a pair of shoes two sizes too small for him from his oldest son. After squeezing into my uncles shoes he went to the refrigerator to grab his lunch and there on the second shelf where his lunchbox was normally kept were his shoes.
I never got a good explanation as to how shoes could end up in the refrigerator but that wasn't supposed to be the point of the story. The marriages after my grandfather died weren't the bliss my grandma Imogene has experienced with him. She got lucky on the first try and then she found herself looking again. Marriages two, three and four were rocky but marriage five found her happy again.
Imogene met husband number Five at church. Or more precisely re-met him. She had known him in their younger days. His name is Bob and he used to work with my grandfather years before. He was even in the carpool in the now famous Shoes in the Fridge story. The whole family liked him instantly and my grandmother was warned that if she divorces this one then we my just go with him in the custody battle.
Bob wasn't included on my family tree assignment of course but if he had been I would have something great to put next to his stick figure as interesting. Bob would regularly take phone calls to talk to men about erectile dysfunction. He wasn't a Dr. he was a happy patient whose name and number was given to potential patients to call for a reference.
The best part about these calls is that they would come to his cell phone and he would take them and have the discussion regardless of who was around.
"Oh sure I can talk to you"
"Well you see you put your penis in a pump and that pulls the blood in and then you just slip the rubber band around the base to keep it up"
"Well you put some petroleum jelly like vaseline on it so it slides better, yeah"
"For as long as you want. You won't really climax but you can do this whenever you want without pills"
"I haven't had any problems at all"
"Ok, you're welcome"
I have never seen or done this procedure but I did tie a string around my finger once really tight and it made my finger swell up and turn purple. Could it really be that different?
I found this hysterical as long as I didn't think too hard about his artificially inflated penis going after my seventy five year old grandmother.
"If you have room off to the side you can put something interesting if you like. Military service, professions or accomplishments. You can paste pictures and decorate them. We're going to hang them on the wall for the parent teacher conference." I must have been in a brooding mood because I remember thinking I was going to be able to save a lot of space under that interesting section.
"What if you aint got a dad?" asked Tommy Blond Hair.
"Everyone has a dad" Someone behind me blurted out.
"Not Jesus" said Tina whose father was a Baptist minister. I've reconnected with Tina recently and despite her upbringing or maybe because of it she's a card carrying atheist selling what she calls "love helpers" at parties not unlike the ones hosted by Tupperware saleswomen.
"God was Jesuses dad" another voice said. The class was sinking into pandemonium and I really love pandemonium but before I could yell "Can we put God in the place of dad if we don't know who our father is?" our teacher regained control.
"If you want you can put a stepfather or stepmother here" and he pointed to the parent part. "whoever you consider your family." He was trying to appease us and maybe avoid being politically incorrect but in truth he just made things a little difficult for some of us and a lot more difficult for me. It was due in a week.
When I sat down to do this assignment it was my full expectation to finish in an hour and then go on with life. I rarely needed the full time alloted to do any given piece of homework so I intended to start right after Leave it to Beaver and finish before Charlie's Angels.
I drew a stick figure that was to be me and the two angled lines for parents. Here was the first snag. I had only recently learned that the man that had been married to my mother for as long as I could remember was not really my father. There was no purposeful deception involved on their part it just never came up and I guess it never occurred to me that people in a family should all have the same last name so I never asked.
I put a stick figure to represent my mother first since that seemed the easiest. Name: Mary Rene ... but what last name? Her name wasn't the same as mine so I couldn't put her next to my biological father could I? Fine. I'll put all of her names. I was annoyed that this was now going to take longer than I expected and I felt I was giving myself more work. Name: Mary Rene Holmes-Berger-Williams. There. It was long but it was precise. Birthday: December 22, 1950. Deceased:... The teacher hadn't said what to put if the person was still alive so I wrote "Not dead yet".
I didn't know much about my biological father so after some thought I put a stick figure to denote my stepfather. Name: JD Williams. At least the men had shorter names. Born: August 16.. "Mom! when is dads date of birth?" I yelled loud enough she could hear from anywhere in the house. I had always referred to him as my dad or father since I didn't know any better and was never corrected.
"August 16" a disembodied voice yelled back. "No I mean what year", "1947" Hmmm.. that made him 30. No wonder he has gray hair I thought. Of course he had always had gray hair except for the Summer he spent looking for a job and he dyed it a shiny black to keep from being rejected for his assumed age.
Deceased: Not dead yet.
From my mothers stick figure I drew two angled lines to represent my maternal grandparents. We called our grandmother Grandma Imogene which was her first name since by the time I was in fifth grade her last name had already changed twice. The family had decided it was just too confusing for the kids to keep changing what we called her. Name: Imogene.. another snag. I didn't know her maiden name and I couldn't remember her second husbands last name even though I was a ring bearer in the wedding.
She was still married to husband number three at the time but he was an abusive alcoholic. I had vague memories of late night calls and my mother and stepfather going to rescue her. I never knew if she was physically abused but after several of these rescues my grandmother was given an ultimatum by her children. He goes or we do. She chose her husband. Twice as it turned out. She did eventually divorce him and then married him again later.
My mother had a sister and two brothers. They formed a united front against my grandmother and affected a freeze out. No contact with her children or grand children until she came to her senses. Being the oldest and the favorite I think it was hardest on me. My father and grandfather both died the same year and my pregnant newly widowed mother and I moved in with my newly widowed grandmother. I was the oldest and at that point the only grandchild and I started calling my mother Mary and my grandmother Mom. We didn't live there long. Both women were remarried within the year.
The freeze out lasted about five or six years which is an eternity for anyone under twenty. My uncles folded first. The youngest one only ten years older than me was in trouble too much not to have some financial back up for bail money. His youngest daughter was getting more face time and replaced me as favorite. I would have to remember this lesson later in case I go into politics or seek popularity. Out of face out of mind.
Next to lose solidarity was my other uncle. He's a pathological liar and has a very odd detachment in his relationships. I can't be positive but I'm willing to bet his motivation wasn't to regain his relationship with his mother but to regain the appearance of a big happy family. He and the rest of the family had been on shaky ground since the death of his father. The day my grandfather died he broke into his own parents house and stole various mementos and artifacts from his childhood that he felt he deserved to inherit but was afraid wouldn't. Then he sold them.
This left my mother and my aunt Margerite as the last hold outs. I don't know which lasted longer but they turned on each other so they both ended up with two fronts of a family freeze out. Their falling out happened because my father bought us a cabin at the Lake of the Ozarks. I didn't know it at the time but my Uncle Dan, Margerites husband and my stepfather were in a financial arms race. When we got a new truck, they got a newer bigger truck. I don't know much about trucks but I knew my cousins had a bigger truck because they made sure to point it out to us. Possibly at their fathers instruction.
When my stepfather brought home a pop up Apache camper Dan brought home a fifth wheel trailer camper that didn't need to be folded up. When we bought a house at the lake Dan called child protective services. I guess he couldn't compete but would get even somehow.
We were in school when they came. I only found out when the neighbors asked me why a man and a women in suits came to the house. They went through our closets to make sure we had clothes and checked the refrigerator to make sure we had food. They counted our shoes and checked my mothers check book to see where her money was going. Of course they felt violated and insulted and the law was laid down we weren't to speak to our aunt, uncle or cousins about anything.
After a few years of isolation some decision was made to reunite the family even though my grandmothers husband number three was still in the picture. It was a weird time being reintroduced to my grandmother and her husband. They came over one evening in the winter and to grease the wheels a bit they brought two paper grocery bags completely full of candy. Leftovers from an event they had promoted that week. It worked.
"Mom! what is Grandma Imogenes maiden name?"
"Snowbird or just Snow." came the reply.
"What's her date of birth?" I bellowed again but instead of yelling back my mother came to my bedroom door. "Why do you want to know?" She saw my family tree at about the same moment. "It's for my homework. I have to do a family tree"
"Let's see, she was 16 when Marggie was born" She calculated in her head " 1929, January 27th,1929."
So I wrote Name: Imogene Snowbird-Holmes-Arnold-Eisen. Date of Birth: January 27, 1927. Deceased: Not dead yet.
But she's dead now. If I had the family tree in front of me I could amend the entry to read. Name: Imogene Snow-Holmes-Arnold-Eisen-Eisen-Martin. Birth: January 27, 1927. Deceased November 19, 2009.
For the assignment I realized I finally had something to write under interesting facts. I wrote "Owned the Tastee Freez". The Tastee Freez at the time made up 20% of all the restaurants town. This was as good as being a celebrity. I must not have been the only person to find that interesting because that fact was also mentioned in her obituary after the list of her surviving relatives.
When I was younger my mother would sometimes work at the Tastee Freez and we would spend her entire shift there. We would start sitting quietly at a table with a coloring book or reading but eventually the massive amounts of sugar and caffeine from the sodas we drank would take it's toll and we would end up running around like insanely hyper children. We drank so much soda because it was the only thing we could get on our own without asking permission and we took full advantage.
For some reason it was great fun for us to go behind the counter to make our own drinks. and even more fun to play mixologist. Is your Coke not Spritey enough? Or maybe your Root Beer would taste more like Dr Pepper if you just added a little bit of orange crush. Of course the ultimate expression of the fountain culinary experience was the Suicide. Recipe was easy. You put a little of each soda in your cup all the way down the line then repeat until your cup was full.
".. and Dad" my mother continued "was born September 14, 1919 and he died December 23rd, 1969" Next to my grandmother I drew another stick figure and wrote down the dates. Wow my first dead relative. I only knew of two pictures of my grandfather. One was him in uniform for the army and the other he was holding me on the Easter before he died. My two year old self posing behind a wagon that had been filled with candy. The photo was in black and white and I would see that picture and wonder more about what kind of candy it was instead of the man holding me.
I've only heard a few stories about my mothers father but they were good ones and always told with love. Once he had to wake up the entire household to help him find the shoes he wore to work. Because he was already late and his carpool was waiting on him he gave up and borrowed a pair of shoes two sizes too small for him from his oldest son. After squeezing into my uncles shoes he went to the refrigerator to grab his lunch and there on the second shelf where his lunchbox was normally kept were his shoes.
I never got a good explanation as to how shoes could end up in the refrigerator but that wasn't supposed to be the point of the story. The marriages after my grandfather died weren't the bliss my grandma Imogene has experienced with him. She got lucky on the first try and then she found herself looking again. Marriages two, three and four were rocky but marriage five found her happy again.
Imogene met husband number Five at church. Or more precisely re-met him. She had known him in their younger days. His name is Bob and he used to work with my grandfather years before. He was even in the carpool in the now famous Shoes in the Fridge story. The whole family liked him instantly and my grandmother was warned that if she divorces this one then we my just go with him in the custody battle.
Bob wasn't included on my family tree assignment of course but if he had been I would have something great to put next to his stick figure as interesting. Bob would regularly take phone calls to talk to men about erectile dysfunction. He wasn't a Dr. he was a happy patient whose name and number was given to potential patients to call for a reference.
The best part about these calls is that they would come to his cell phone and he would take them and have the discussion regardless of who was around.
"Oh sure I can talk to you"
"Well you see you put your penis in a pump and that pulls the blood in and then you just slip the rubber band around the base to keep it up"
"Well you put some petroleum jelly like vaseline on it so it slides better, yeah"
"For as long as you want. You won't really climax but you can do this whenever you want without pills"
"I haven't had any problems at all"
"Ok, you're welcome"
I have never seen or done this procedure but I did tie a string around my finger once really tight and it made my finger swell up and turn purple. Could it really be that different?
I found this hysterical as long as I didn't think too hard about his artificially inflated penis going after my seventy five year old grandmother.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Let's try this again
Rewrite for first part of Vacations from Raised by White Trash
Growing up we went on a lot of vacations. More precisely we repeated the exact same vacation a lot of times. If you're the type of person not interested in geologic wonders, historic points of interest or any culture other than your own it's a good way to spend a few weeks every summer.
One night some time n the late seventies at a family dinner enjoyed while sitting in the car at a drive in restaurant our parents told us they had bought a cabin at the lake. The lake of course being the Lake of the Ozarks an enormous body of water in southern Missouri not far from Branson. I thought about this as I ate the onion rings I had slipped over my fingers. A habit that has left me with two burn scars. I loved the idea of having a lake house. You know a little second home we could run off to when the pressures of our small town got to be too much. "What did you do this weekend?" my classmates would ask. "Oh" I would reply adding a pause a bit dreamily but still somehow non-chalant " we spent a few days at the lake house"
"Let's go there now!" my brother yelled through a mouthful of fries.
"Splendid idea" I chimed in. The word splendid was one that I was trying to incorporate into my regular speech. I don't know where I picked it up but I do remember it replaced the word "capital".
"It's a school night and it's not going to be ours for a few more weeks" my mother replied.
This made me suspicious. "Why won't it be ours?" I asked just a little bit frantically "Is there someone living in it? if it's our house why can't we just go whenever we want to?". I was beginning to worry that they had been taken advantage of. Somehow tricked into buying a house that wasn't really for sale.
"No, nobody lives in it. It's only for vacations" my mom tried to explain.
"Do you have to wait until you get paid? How much did it cost?" I demanded. She ignored me on the question of price but instead said "Buying property isn't like buying a car. It takes a few weeks to close the deal".
This is sounding better and better. Not just a lake house but property and there was a deal being made. "Will we be able to bring friends?" Not that I had a lot of friends I wanted to expose to my family but maybe a summer property would ease the blow a little.
"Well", my mom calculated "the cabin sleeps nine and we can bring the camper for eight more". Nine people!? this place must be huge! I may not remember it correctly but I think my respect for my stepfather went up a little. Think of it. A Summer House.... on the lake.
To be fair I was never told it was an actual house. It was always referred to as a cabin. In my excitement and imagination I had added the house part myself. My memory started to correct as we got closer to the lake I still didn't see any actual houses. I did see mobile homes though. Dirty lonely ones set back in yards cut out of the surrounding woods. I started to get anxious. This was not going to be splendid.
When we found the lot it was situated off the side of an old highway. There was no driveway so we did the classy thing and just drove off the shoulder and right into the front yard. We parked in the shade of a honey locust tree. A pretty name for a tree that created an unending supply of long spikey thorns. These three to six inch long harpoons were solid enough to puncture tennis shoes, flip flops and the the front right tire of the family car.
The cabin itself had three different colors of shingles and the two windows facing us didn't match. It was way to small to be a house at best it could be though tof as a largish shed. "Well" I thought to myself "At least it's not a trailer". I had been taught that there was nothing worse than "trailer trash" and that somehow even with all evidence to the contrary we were superior to people who lived in mobile homes.
I tried to rescue some sense of satisfaction by telling myself that if we ever bothered to meet the neighbors they would probably say "Oh, you're the ones with the actual house". They would probably envy us and want to seek shelter within our real and solid building. The first sign of a strong wind they would be huddled in the front yard begging to be let in. We would allow this of course because we respected all types of people. Even the inferior white trash forced to live in flimsy homes with wheels. Or at least once had wheels.
It's generally accepted that people can cry when in the presence of intense beauty like a painting. an amazing sunset or the birth of a legitimate child. I was thinking of this and how the opposite of beauty can have the same effect. A tear ran down my cheek. This was not splendid at all.
The inside of the cabin was about four hundred square feet with walls alternating dark wood paneling, dry wall, a bluish off panel and to tie it all together cracked plaster the color of diseased toenails. I suggested we take the paneling off the walls so maybe we could at least paint it all one color. Of course we couldn't because there were no walls behind the panels.
For lighting there was one bare bulb hanging from the right half of the ceiling and a circular fluorescent tube for the left. Neither had glass globes over them nor did they give off much light. This didn't matter too much since the far wall has dominated but a Pabst Blue Ribbon sign meant for outdoors. Because the signs original purpose was to draw broke rednecks from miles away to purchase cheap beer it gave off plenty of light. In a twist of irony it was the only light bright enough to read under.
The kitchen was the size of a medium sized walk in closet. The bonus to this was we would never really expected to help out with food preparation. There was simply not enough room for more than one person in there. The stove was a leaky gas adaption that didn't kill us outright but probably helped us sleep at night. Come to think of it it may have something to do with the low test scores my nephews seem to have in school to this day.
There was a bathroom complete with a sheet metal shower stall that shifted with body weight. Move back and forth fast enough and you could recreate the sounds of a thunderstorm. For convenience there was no door. Instead there was a thick plastic folding curtain that never opened or closed all the way.
The cabin came furnished and, true to my mothers word, it was technically able to sleep nine people. One full sized bed and three ancient fold out sofa beds all smelling of dust and mold. Guest number nine would be sleeping on what we called the chair bed. The chair bed was the least comfortable but most coveted since it the only bed you didn't have to share with a gassy relative.
Not long after arriving an elderly couple appeared at the side of the highway that made up the property line of the front yard. She was wearing a denim sundress that allowed dimpled doughy under wave in the breeze. The man next to her was dressed in overalls, a white t-shirt and a blue and white striped baseball cap. He looked like someone was trying to pass him off as an old time train engineer.
My stepdad introduced himself and shook hands and pointed at each of us and recited our names and social position in the family. "yep" the man seemed to agree with who my stepdad thought we were. Then he continued as though halfway through a speech. "My brother built that place 'bout 15 years ago. He weren't no god for much and drank too much to keep a good job so he just made it out of scraps he brought home from job sites."
"We offered to help him get himself a good trailer but he wanted to do it himself. We got a phone if you have an emergency..." This was the wife speaking. I don't remember what followed. Something about property lines and trees but I was having some realizations that didn't sit well with me.
For one these people weren't jealous of us for having a the only house for miles. They pitied us for not having a trailer. "Hey we have a real house we live in all the time" I wanted to say just to let them know we were still better than they were. Before I could speak up the phrase "...made it from scraps he brought home..." was starting to take full effect.
Today a home made of recycled or reclaimed materials is very trendy and I would probably be proud to own one. A few summers before we had built a fort in a tree from scavenged boards and that was really cool. I guess it's all a matter of context. This wasn't a clever construction project this was a house made of trash. Not even a house! Just a cabin. And even that was an exaggeration. Not splendid... no not splendid at all.
After a few bloody mishaps with giant thorns and my generally sour mood our mother decided we were underfoot and sent us to see the lake. "Why don't you kids go down to the water. Just follow the road. Come back before it gets dark". If she ever thought it wasn't a good idea to send young children down a highway to a large body of water unattended she never let it show. She probably had a lot of confidence in our abilities to handle problems or her own ability to replace us if she needed to.
When we went camping I always liked hanging around the boat docks or going swimming so this perked me up. I guess even though we weren't "on" the lake we were at least "at" the lake. All was not a complete loss.
There was no boat dock, though, and no swimming beach just the highway plunging directly into the water. I knew on some level that the lake had been made by damming rivers and flooding valleys but this was the most obvious evidence I had ever seen of the process. Normally this wouldn't be a big deal but when I was five years old my parents had taken me to see Deliverance at the drive in. The "squeal like a pig" scene didn't scar me like it probably should have but the very last few seconds of the movie did.
If you haven't seen it or don't remember the last scene of the movie is a hand, obviously belonging to a corpse, shooting up out of the water of the calm waters of the newly made lake. A lake made from flooding a town. A lake like the one I was now looking at. Now even the lake part of having a lake house was ruined for me.
That first night I lay awake under the blankets that we hadn't been able to sell at garage sales and tried not to freeze. Every sound outside came from an imaginary Deliverance lake corpse that could easily get through walls made of wood paneling if they knew we were there. How could they do this to us? I wondered. What did we do to deserve this terrible place.
Then I remembered last years vacation
Growing up we went on a lot of vacations. More precisely we repeated the exact same vacation a lot of times. If you're the type of person not interested in geologic wonders, historic points of interest or any culture other than your own it's a good way to spend a few weeks every summer.
One night some time n the late seventies at a family dinner enjoyed while sitting in the car at a drive in restaurant our parents told us they had bought a cabin at the lake. The lake of course being the Lake of the Ozarks an enormous body of water in southern Missouri not far from Branson. I thought about this as I ate the onion rings I had slipped over my fingers. A habit that has left me with two burn scars. I loved the idea of having a lake house. You know a little second home we could run off to when the pressures of our small town got to be too much. "What did you do this weekend?" my classmates would ask. "Oh" I would reply adding a pause a bit dreamily but still somehow non-chalant " we spent a few days at the lake house"
"Let's go there now!" my brother yelled through a mouthful of fries.
"Splendid idea" I chimed in. The word splendid was one that I was trying to incorporate into my regular speech. I don't know where I picked it up but I do remember it replaced the word "capital".
"It's a school night and it's not going to be ours for a few more weeks" my mother replied.
This made me suspicious. "Why won't it be ours?" I asked just a little bit frantically "Is there someone living in it? if it's our house why can't we just go whenever we want to?". I was beginning to worry that they had been taken advantage of. Somehow tricked into buying a house that wasn't really for sale.
"No, nobody lives in it. It's only for vacations" my mom tried to explain.
"Do you have to wait until you get paid? How much did it cost?" I demanded. She ignored me on the question of price but instead said "Buying property isn't like buying a car. It takes a few weeks to close the deal".
This is sounding better and better. Not just a lake house but property and there was a deal being made. "Will we be able to bring friends?" Not that I had a lot of friends I wanted to expose to my family but maybe a summer property would ease the blow a little.
"Well", my mom calculated "the cabin sleeps nine and we can bring the camper for eight more". Nine people!? this place must be huge! I may not remember it correctly but I think my respect for my stepfather went up a little. Think of it. A Summer House.... on the lake.
To be fair I was never told it was an actual house. It was always referred to as a cabin. In my excitement and imagination I had added the house part myself. My memory started to correct as we got closer to the lake I still didn't see any actual houses. I did see mobile homes though. Dirty lonely ones set back in yards cut out of the surrounding woods. I started to get anxious. This was not going to be splendid.
When we found the lot it was situated off the side of an old highway. There was no driveway so we did the classy thing and just drove off the shoulder and right into the front yard. We parked in the shade of a honey locust tree. A pretty name for a tree that created an unending supply of long spikey thorns. These three to six inch long harpoons were solid enough to puncture tennis shoes, flip flops and the the front right tire of the family car.
The cabin itself had three different colors of shingles and the two windows facing us didn't match. It was way to small to be a house at best it could be though tof as a largish shed. "Well" I thought to myself "At least it's not a trailer". I had been taught that there was nothing worse than "trailer trash" and that somehow even with all evidence to the contrary we were superior to people who lived in mobile homes.
I tried to rescue some sense of satisfaction by telling myself that if we ever bothered to meet the neighbors they would probably say "Oh, you're the ones with the actual house". They would probably envy us and want to seek shelter within our real and solid building. The first sign of a strong wind they would be huddled in the front yard begging to be let in. We would allow this of course because we respected all types of people. Even the inferior white trash forced to live in flimsy homes with wheels. Or at least once had wheels.
It's generally accepted that people can cry when in the presence of intense beauty like a painting. an amazing sunset or the birth of a legitimate child. I was thinking of this and how the opposite of beauty can have the same effect. A tear ran down my cheek. This was not splendid at all.
The inside of the cabin was about four hundred square feet with walls alternating dark wood paneling, dry wall, a bluish off panel and to tie it all together cracked plaster the color of diseased toenails. I suggested we take the paneling off the walls so maybe we could at least paint it all one color. Of course we couldn't because there were no walls behind the panels.
For lighting there was one bare bulb hanging from the right half of the ceiling and a circular fluorescent tube for the left. Neither had glass globes over them nor did they give off much light. This didn't matter too much since the far wall has dominated but a Pabst Blue Ribbon sign meant for outdoors. Because the signs original purpose was to draw broke rednecks from miles away to purchase cheap beer it gave off plenty of light. In a twist of irony it was the only light bright enough to read under.
The kitchen was the size of a medium sized walk in closet. The bonus to this was we would never really expected to help out with food preparation. There was simply not enough room for more than one person in there. The stove was a leaky gas adaption that didn't kill us outright but probably helped us sleep at night. Come to think of it it may have something to do with the low test scores my nephews seem to have in school to this day.
There was a bathroom complete with a sheet metal shower stall that shifted with body weight. Move back and forth fast enough and you could recreate the sounds of a thunderstorm. For convenience there was no door. Instead there was a thick plastic folding curtain that never opened or closed all the way.
The cabin came furnished and, true to my mothers word, it was technically able to sleep nine people. One full sized bed and three ancient fold out sofa beds all smelling of dust and mold. Guest number nine would be sleeping on what we called the chair bed. The chair bed was the least comfortable but most coveted since it the only bed you didn't have to share with a gassy relative.
Not long after arriving an elderly couple appeared at the side of the highway that made up the property line of the front yard. She was wearing a denim sundress that allowed dimpled doughy under wave in the breeze. The man next to her was dressed in overalls, a white t-shirt and a blue and white striped baseball cap. He looked like someone was trying to pass him off as an old time train engineer.
My stepdad introduced himself and shook hands and pointed at each of us and recited our names and social position in the family. "yep" the man seemed to agree with who my stepdad thought we were. Then he continued as though halfway through a speech. "My brother built that place 'bout 15 years ago. He weren't no god for much and drank too much to keep a good job so he just made it out of scraps he brought home from job sites."
"We offered to help him get himself a good trailer but he wanted to do it himself. We got a phone if you have an emergency..." This was the wife speaking. I don't remember what followed. Something about property lines and trees but I was having some realizations that didn't sit well with me.
For one these people weren't jealous of us for having a the only house for miles. They pitied us for not having a trailer. "Hey we have a real house we live in all the time" I wanted to say just to let them know we were still better than they were. Before I could speak up the phrase "...made it from scraps he brought home..." was starting to take full effect.
Today a home made of recycled or reclaimed materials is very trendy and I would probably be proud to own one. A few summers before we had built a fort in a tree from scavenged boards and that was really cool. I guess it's all a matter of context. This wasn't a clever construction project this was a house made of trash. Not even a house! Just a cabin. And even that was an exaggeration. Not splendid... no not splendid at all.
After a few bloody mishaps with giant thorns and my generally sour mood our mother decided we were underfoot and sent us to see the lake. "Why don't you kids go down to the water. Just follow the road. Come back before it gets dark". If she ever thought it wasn't a good idea to send young children down a highway to a large body of water unattended she never let it show. She probably had a lot of confidence in our abilities to handle problems or her own ability to replace us if she needed to.
When we went camping I always liked hanging around the boat docks or going swimming so this perked me up. I guess even though we weren't "on" the lake we were at least "at" the lake. All was not a complete loss.
There was no boat dock, though, and no swimming beach just the highway plunging directly into the water. I knew on some level that the lake had been made by damming rivers and flooding valleys but this was the most obvious evidence I had ever seen of the process. Normally this wouldn't be a big deal but when I was five years old my parents had taken me to see Deliverance at the drive in. The "squeal like a pig" scene didn't scar me like it probably should have but the very last few seconds of the movie did.
If you haven't seen it or don't remember the last scene of the movie is a hand, obviously belonging to a corpse, shooting up out of the water of the calm waters of the newly made lake. A lake made from flooding a town. A lake like the one I was now looking at. Now even the lake part of having a lake house was ruined for me.
That first night I lay awake under the blankets that we hadn't been able to sell at garage sales and tried not to freeze. Every sound outside came from an imaginary Deliverance lake corpse that could easily get through walls made of wood paneling if they knew we were there. How could they do this to us? I wondered. What did we do to deserve this terrible place.
Then I remembered last years vacation
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